


Memory

by dustjacketduck



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, F/M, Fakiru Week 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 08:18:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12207378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustjacketduck/pseuds/dustjacketduck
Summary: Fakiru Week 2017 - Day 4





	Memory

Sunlight glinted off the crimson pendant at the base of the girl’s pale, freckled neck. Her restless fingers toyed with it, unconsciously shifting it this way and that and sending its gleaming reflection spiraling in all directions.

“I don’t know exactly what's in it,” she said. “That's why I'm here. It… it belongs to a friend, and I was hoping you could help me.”

Fakir leaned forward as far as he could without seeming creepy. “I might be able to.”

Two plastic cups of coffee sat untouched on the table between them. The day was blisteringly hot, warming the metal seats they sat on. And Fakir’s eyes hadn’t left the girl’s pendant once.

“Oh! Do you need to see it closer?” She unclasped the necklace and placed it in Fakir's open palm, the silver chain pooling and spilling over into the air. The metal was slightly warm from her body heat, and the jewel pulsed in his hand, almost like it was alive. His own heartbeat increased as he held it, excitement building in his bones.

Face neutral, he inspected it. “I don't think you realize how valuable this is,” he said. “The container is sturdy and beautiful, and the contents are crisp. Nearly flawless craftsmanship. It could have been made yesterday, but you said you've had this for how long? Two months?”

“I'm not going to sell it to you.” She set her jaw, face clenched in determination.

“Right, then.” Fakir tried to stifle his disappointment. It was a truly glorious piece, and he did want it. But if she wanted to pay him for her task, then he’d have to oblige her. “What you want me to do with this--it’s quite an unusual request. Usually my clients sell or buy the memories, not ask for an unbinding of them.”

“But you  _ can _ do it. I know that you can. That’s why I'm here.”

For a long moment, he stared at her, and she looked right back, unflinching, with eyes the color and vibrancy of a remembered sky.

“Yes, I’ve done it before,” he said eventually. “And I’ll see what I can do to help you here.”

Her face broke apart into an ecstatic grin.

Fakir raised a hand. “ _ But _ I will have to keep this for a while. To see what I’m working with, and then give you a cost estimate. I won’t do anything without your approval first--trust me--but this is necessary.”

The girl nodded gravely. “Yeah. Sure. I get it.”

“Good. We have a deal, then?”

* * *

 

Fakir had an enigmatic disposition, a subtle smile, and was, by all accounts, brilliant at what he did.

It had taken Ahiru almost the full two months to find him. Secrecy was part of his trade, after all. She hadn’t expected it to be easy. Those who deal with memories--distilling, binding, selling, unbinding--were rare, and unless you knew where to look, nearly impossible to track down. He worked at a bookstore, too, which she found out by accident after she’d started working with him; in the weeks since then, he’d been warming up to her occasional unannounced visits.

A bell rang as she pushed open the door to the shop. It was a cozy little place of red and brown and gold that held far more books than technically fit. It smelled like paper and pine, a pleasant fragrance that Ahiru breathed in gratefully as it flooded over her. Fakir was sitting behind the checkout desk with his feet up, reading. He didn’t even raise his head as she came in.

“Hey.”

“Uh, hi,” Ahiru replied, a little awkwardly.

Finally, Fakir took his feet off the desk and set his book aside. “What?”

“I just wanted to see how it was going,” Ahiru said. Which was only partially the reason. She also just liked seeing him, even if he was perpetually grumpy.

“Oh.” What little he had of a good mood evaporated. “I actually wanted to talk to you about that. You said the pendant belonged to a friend. That’s not true, is it?”

Ahiru recoiled, eyes widening.  _ What? _ She barely dared to breathe. The terror in her face must have been obvious, because Fakir straightened, suddenly at complete attention.

“I'm not trying to scare you. I want your business, trust me. But there's something weird about the memory you gave me, and I need to know how you actually got this so I can figure it out.”

Her eyes stung, and she blinked fiercely to clear them. She had her own memories coming to the surface now, the memories of someone she was scared she’d never see again.

“It  _ did _ belong to my friend,” she whispered. “I think. He gave it to me, and then he… he just  _ disappeared _ . I was hoping that whatever's in the necklace might be able to… help me find him… or something. At least give me a clue.”

She stared down at her feet and the dusty floorboards she stood on, unable to stop the tears from coming this time around. Somewhere in front of her, there was a rustling noise, like Fakir was getting up, and she might have heard him say something, but none of it really processed. Instead, she just turned around and left.

* * *

 

“Why didn’t you go to the police first? Your friend gave you a necklace, then he disappeared. You could have just reported him missing, but instead you went to me.”

Ahiru crinkled her nose. “It’s kind of weird. Cause I sort of only guessed it was a memory.”

They were at the cafe again, which Ahiru guessed was just the normal place Fakir went to to discuss business. He’d explained to her that it didn’t really matter where they went, even if it was public, because he could make sure that nothing they said stuck with anyone who might overhear it. She didn’t quite understand, but she trusted he was telling the truth.

“Well, he… he was getting really interested in the whole idea of--everything you do, basically. With memories, mostly, but also emotions.”

Fakir shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “That’s not possible. And I really hope he wasn’t experimenting with distilling memories.”

“Why?”

“Not everyone can do it. Some people are born with the potential to, but if you don’t train that, you can’t do it. And if he didn’t have potential and training, frankly, he probably would have messed something up.”

“Oh. So you think he got the memory from someone else?”

“That seems most likely.”

“Then it’s not his, and it won’t tell me anything.” She slumped in her chair. All this work she’d done could be for nothing; she’d end up right where she started, with one less lead.

“Hey, we don’t know that,” Fakir said. Hesitantly, he reached out to put a hand on her arm. “It still could be his. And I’m going to find out what’s inside it, so at least you’ll know why he gave it to you.”

* * *

 

The workshop beneath the bookstore was dimly-lit, and Fakir worked by the amber glow cast out of his lamp. It was a small basement, proportional to upstairs, and the shelved walls were almost as full. Instead of books, however, they held a rainbow of stones.

Fakir liked using stones as vessels. Pebbles, glass, gems… he could technically bind a memory to almost any object he wanted, but like any artist, he had his preferences.

Some were plain. Some he'd set into jewelry, like a ring or a necklace or an earring. Some had engravings or little carvings. All were beautiful and well-made, catching his minimal light and magnifying to into something spectacular.

Resting gently on the desk, Ahiru’s pendant gave out a light of its own as he called out to the memory inside. And, for what felt like the millionth time, he was filled with the odd sense that something was off. If he asked, memories would usually show themselves to him, playing out in his head like movies, but he got nothing from this one. Or maybe it wasn’t nothing--maybe it was multiple things, all responding at once and blurring each other.

He groaned in frustration. Ahiru was counting on him, and he still didn’t even know  _ what was wrong _ .

Worse, he didn’t know why he wanted to help her so badly anyway. It was more than just her money, that was for sure. It also wasn’t just because she was pretty. He interacted with pretty people all the time, as clients for both books and memories--girls with silky hair and a narrator’s voice, boys with bright eyes and shining smiles--and that was never a factor in his work. So he figured it was empathy, eagerness to help her find a lost loved one.

Still, this commission was taking an uncannily long time and he wanted it to be over soon.

He dragged his thumb over the smooth surface of the stone and it cooed in response, pulsating in the way that had become so familiar to him in the past month. Then he reached out to it again, trying to unlock any reaction in it.

And he finally found something. Grinning and encouraged, he went in once more, coaxing the image out.

Screaming static filled his mind, blurry and buzzing, and his visceral instinct was to  _ run _ . He felt it in his ears; it blocked his sight; it stirred his blood. He tried to pull away, but something grabbed him, and he had to stay.

A vision materialized in front of him, just for a millisecond, but with painful clarity.

Then came pain. Fakir lurched away and his eyes opened--he was free from the pendant’s hold. He set the stone down in shock as the implications of what he’d seen hit him.

He’d been having trouble because the person who made it was skilled beyond anything Fakir had ever seen. And they'd placed a block on the memory to deter peeking, meaning Fakir had only barely scratched the surface to the pendant’s secrets.

Luckily, he knew exactly who that was.

* * *

 

“I can try to contact him, but I can't guarantee it’ll work. He doesn't like me that much. And I absolutely despise him, so you better be paying me extra for this.”

Ahiru laughed, tapping her fingers against the kitchen counter. His voice sounded so calm over the phone. “What? Why do you hate each other?”

“Well, he tried to kill me, so I like to think that I am entirely justified in this.”

She waited for him to laugh, but he didn't. “Wait, are you serious?”

“Have I ever not been serious about this stuff?”

“True…”

Fakir seemed eager to change the subject and continued with barely so much as a pause for air. “So, your friend. What was his name?”

“Mytho.”

Fakir sucked in a breath.

“What?  _ What? _ Do you know him?” Ahiru clutched the phone tightly. Could the clue she’d been looking for have been right in front of her the whole time?

“It's… it’s not important.”

“Yeah, it is! Any connection you could possibly have might mean something!”

“This doesn't, though. Drop it.”

“I won't!”

There was a silence, and for a horrible moment, Ahiru thought he’d hung up on her. “Hello?”

“He’s my ex.”

It took a second for Ahiru to figure out what he meant, and when she did, she nearly dropped the phone in shock. “Wait--”

“See, you should have just dropped it. I don't know if I just outed your friend to you or not, but either way it’s not my place to say that.”

Another moment, and Ahiru found her words. “Mytho was…  _ is _ … out as pan to me, don't worry. I just… you’re gay? Or bi? Oh God, that’s really personal, I’m so sorry. Um, how come he never said anything about you?”

“Maybe because I'm secretive as anything. And yeah, I'm bisexual.”

“Cool.” She winced. “Sorry, that’s--ah, that sounded weird. But I’m bi, too. Well, ace and biromantic, so it's not the same thing, but… Sorry, you probably don't care.”

“I’m just amazed that you somehow feel comfortable enough with me to come out over the phone.”

“We've known each other for two months, and I consider us friends.”

“Hmm,” Fakir said. Then: “Well, this conversation certainly took a drastic, unexpected turn, huh?”

And they both burst out laughing.

* * *

 

_ She considers us friends. _

Fakir sat on his bed and tried to keep his heart from exploding. Being her friend… he liked that idea. He liked it a lot. She might even want them to keep being friends after the transaction was over, when there was nothing forcing them to interact.

Something told him that she was just as lonely as he was.

He played with the seams of his jacket, rehearsing what he needed to say in his head.

Fakir didn't want to do this. ( _ What if he won't cooperate? _ )

He wanted to stall, postpone it forever. ( _ What if he doesn’t even know anything? _ )

But he couldn’t, because his only friend was counting on this.

( _ What if he knows _ everything _? _ )

Steeling himself, Fakir got to his feet and went out to seek the man who had haunted his nightmares for years.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we have it: the first PT fic I’ve written in nearly a year! It’s a weird little AU, but I quite like it! I honestly have no idea where the idea came from. Partly it’s inspired by a book I read recently (The Girl Who Could Not Dream) where the main character’s parents secretly sell dreams below their bookstore, but that’s about all I used. This is also my first ever writing piece for Fakiru Week. I'm proud of this, and I hope you liked it, too!


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